Smoke (The Carelli Family Saga #1) - Eden Butler Page 0,37

next to me dancing with his mother, smiling and laughing as she rested her head on his shoulder. And still, Smoke managed to glance my way, his gaze shifting, dropping when his little brother moved his hand down to rest on my lower back.

“At least the tequila was good, right?” Dante asked, spinning me away from any vantage point I had of his brother, forcing my attention up at his handsome face. Otis sang on, the bridge moving to a climax and his smile broadened, becoming mildly flirty.

I didn’t hate the attention, and despite Toni’s revelation, it wasn’t this Carelli’s attention I wanted, and I was sure Dante knew that.

“No. The tequila was wonderful.” Stretching my neck to see around the room, I frowned. “At least Toni thought so.” When I couldn’t find her in the crowd, Dante nodded toward the patio, drawing my attention to the two figures outside under the dim lights.

“I think she’s drunk on something else right now.”

Luca held her by the waist, his long arm tugging her close as she rested her palms flat against his chest. They didn’t seem to speak or do much else but stare at each other and that ache that had pinched in my chest when I first noticed them tonight returned, burning sharper.

“Will they ever…”

“I hope so,” Dante said, interrupting my question. I was sure he wondered the same things I did. “Nothing is impossible.”

“Dante, amore,” I heard, recognizing Mrs. Carelli’s soft tone as she approached.

Smoke still held her, but his attention moved from his mother and shifted to me as Dante smiled at the woman, grinning wider when she reached for him.

“We’ll switch. It’s been ages since I’ve had a dance with my bambino. Here…” She grabbed Smoke’s hand, then took mine from Dante’s hold and pressed his right into my left. “You dance with Maggie, Dimitri. So she’s not left without a partner. You don’t mind, do you? No? Good.”

And just like that, Smoke held me, wrapping his large arm around my waist and his long fingers curling around my hand.

Heat began to pool at the center of my back just as the music lowered. I paused, looking up, thinking that we wouldn’t have to suffer through an entire song. But Smoke never slowed. He never paused for a second as Otis’s voice faded and the slow, rough whine of a rhythm guitar started up with another faster ballad.

Foy Vance’s Pain Never Hurt Me Like Love moved through the room like the wind. Each word blistering through me, resonating as that haunting voice seemed to mimic so much of what I felt.

He didn’t speak.

Smoke just held me, shifting our bodies in a sensual sway that pushed us closer together. I wanted to stop the world just then. Keep us frozen in that small moment with Smoke holding me, moving us closer, where it felt like nothing else mattered but how intensely he watched me and how good it felt when he moved his thumb to my cheek and let it skim over my jaw.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he said, not blinking, his movements slowing. “You always are.” Smoke took his hand from my face, and I spotted the tension flexing his jaw when I looked away, but he didn’t drop his hold on me or let me have even an inch of space. “You make shit fly right out of my mouth, bella.”

That time I did look at him, wondering why he was blaming me for the things he let move freely from his mouth. “That isn’t my fault.”

His smirk was easy, soft and when he nodded, he did it with a movement of his shoulder that told me he only had himself to blame. “No. It’s not.” Smoke pulled me close, his fingers gripping at my waist. “There’s just something about you that…”

“Excuse me?”

Smoke jerked his gaze to the man at our side but didn’t take his hands from me.

The wire-rimmed glasses didn’t hide the guy’s handsome face or take away from the fullness of his mouth. He was a stranger in this town and clearly had no idea who he was interrupting.

“There a problem?” Smoke asked, pulling me closer.

“Not at all. Sorry,” the man said, glancing between us. “I…don’t mean to bust up anything, but that woman over there,” he pointed to the table, to where Toni sat nursing a mug of what looked like coffee, “she suggested I ask you to dance.” He smiled at me, shifting his attention back to Smoke when neither of